Ahhh, December. Welcome back. I’ve missed you.
Many of us rush headlong into December. We can’t wait. We crave its festivities and foods; its comfort and cozy; its home and hygge.
But in almost every tradition, December invites – forces, you might say – us to wait. It’s the month with the shortest day of the year (the Solstice, on the 21st). On these long (often cold) nights, we wait. We wait for the days to lengthen. We wait for the days to lighten; for spring, for summer, for life, for lightness. We wait for gatherings with beloved friends and family.
We wait for all that is broken to mend; for all that is in shadow to be illumined; for all that is bereft to heal.
While we wait in the dark, in almost every tradition, we light candles. We light candles on Advent wreaths. We light candles on Hanukkah menorahs. We light candles for Bodhi Day, St Lucy’s Day, the Solstice, Kwanzaa, and other holidays.
Light and dark. Comfort and cold. Cozy and hard.
*Both.and*
In all of these spaces and places, we wait.
Go inward: hear the internal invitations of this season:
Are you who you want to be? How/not? What steps might you take in the dark toward who you want to be; toward the light? I settle in each December for an annual year-end retreat around questions like this. I find a single word to serve as my lamp for the year ahead. Such retreats are not easy, but without them I could not see. (this is a good template if you want to try it yourself.)
Go outward: listen to, delight in the company of, and serve others:
Are there people you look forward to seeing this December? Make sure they know that. Are there others you always mean to serve but do not? See how you might lighten their load somehow.
Many of us rush headlong into December. We can’t wait. We crave its festivities and foods; its comfort and cozy; its home and hygge.
But in almost every tradition, December invites – forces, you might say – us to wait. It’s the month with the shortest day of the year (the Solstice, on the 21st). On these long (often cold) nights, we wait. We wait for the days to lengthen. We wait for the days to lighten; for spring, for summer, for life, for lightness. We wait for gatherings with beloved friends and family.
We wait for all that is broken to mend; for all that is in shadow to be illumined; for all that is bereft to heal.
While we wait in the dark, in almost every tradition, we light candles. We light candles on Advent wreaths. We light candles on Hanukkah menorahs. We light candles for Bodhi Day, St Lucy’s Day, the Solstice, Kwanzaa, and other holidays.
Light and dark. Comfort and cold. Cozy and hard.
*Both.and*
In all of these spaces and places, we wait.
Go inward: hear the internal invitations of this season:
Are you who you want to be? How/not? What steps might you take in the dark toward who you want to be; toward the light? I settle in each December for an annual year-end retreat around questions like this. I find a single word to serve as my lamp for the year ahead. Such retreats are not easy, but without them I could not see. (this is a good template if you want to try it yourself.)
Go outward: listen to, delight in the company of, and serve others:
Are there people you look forward to seeing this December? Make sure they know that. Are there others you always mean to serve but do not? See how you might lighten their load somehow.
ADVENT
|
BODHI DAY (DEC 8)
|
ST LUCY'S DAY / LA FESTA DI SANTA LUCIA / LUCIADAGEN
(DEC 13)
|
CHRISTMASTIDE / CHRISTMAS
|
WINTER / WINTER SOLSTICE (DEC 21)
|
HANUKKAH (DEC 25 TO JAN 2)
|
KWANZAA (DEC 26 TO JAN 1)
|
NEW YEAR’S EVE (DEC 31)
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